


two idiots, one idea

by simplyclockwork



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Gift Fic, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Greg is the best wingman, Idiots in Love, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, POV Greg Lestrade, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, prompt, proposal, romantic, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24096094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyclockwork/pseuds/simplyclockwork
Summary: When two consulting idiots share one brain cell, instances like these should be expected.Or: the time Sherlock and John simultaneously proposed to one another and Lestrade tricked them both.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 42
Kudos: 179





	two idiots, one idea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OmalleyMeetsTibbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmalleyMeetsTibbs/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Два идиота, одна идея](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24196162) by [Little_Unicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Unicorn/pseuds/Little_Unicorn)



> Prompted by @heyblinken:
> 
> _You know the cute stories of same sex couples proposing at the same time (usually helped along by a third party they both talk to?) I could totally see that happening with Sherlock and John (and any number of third party pushing them in the right direction)_

It starts with a pint.

Sitting beside Gregory Lestrade at their Thursday night pub, John watches condensation trickle down the side of a full pint, the DI’s words washing over him. 

“John? Hello-oo, Earth to John!” 

John blinks, snapping out of his thoughts to find Lestrade waving a hand in front of his face. Shaking his head, he offers a sheepish smile. “Sorry. Woolgathering.”

Lestrade’s brows rise. “I’ll say. Took ages to bring you back.” Watching John over the rim of his glass, he tilts his head. “What were you thinking about? Looked like you were about to give yourself an aneurism.” 

“God forbid,” John mutters, taking a drink. The cold beer washes down his throat, malty and satisfying. “I have a bit of a...problem?” He spreads his hands. “Not exactly a problem. A dilemma, maybe?” 

Settling back in his chair, Lestrade grins. “Lay it on me.” 

“Thanks, oh wise one.” John rolls his eyes and taps a finger to the table. Taking his time, he tries to find the right words before sighing. “Okay, here it is. I’m planning to propose.”

Lestrade’s eyes widen with mock adoration. “Oh, John, you shouldn’t have. You romantic man, you make me swoon.”

Another eye roll from John. “Hilarious, Greg. A right laugh.” Frowning, he rubs a hand over his stubbled jaw. “I’m serious. I want to marry him.” 

“I know,” Lestrade replies, snorting. “No one would even joke about marrying Sherlock Holmes unless they really meant it.” Leaning forward, he braces his elbows on the table. “So, you get a ring yet?” 

John nods. “Yeah.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small box and sets it on the table. Lestrade opens it and whistles at the sleek, matte-black ring inside, inlaid with an ornate design in a dark, almost blood-red hue. 

“Very goth-chic,” he comments. “He’ll love it.” 

“Probably,” John replies, reaching out to take the box back. Stowing it in a pocket, he scratches at an eyebrow. “No idea how to do it, though.” He sits back with a frustrated sigh. “Also, I don’t know how I’m going to keep it from him. The man sees  _ everything _ . There’s no way I can hide it.”

Eyes glimmering, Lestrade steeples his hands and grins. “I have an idea.”

***

Sherlock sweeps into Lestrade’s office three days later. The force of his dramatic entrance scatters several piles of paperwork off the desk and sends them fluttering to the floor. Looking up from his arrest reports, Lestrade sighs. 

“Hello, Sherlock.”

“Geoff, I need your advice.”

Rolling his eyes, Lestrade sits back in his chair. “It’s  _ Greg _ ...you know what? Just stick with Lestrade.”

“Very well, Lemon.” 

Lestrade prays for patience. “I see you’re in a fine state today, Sherlock.” The detective whips around, greatcoat obliterating another stack of papers that Lestrade fails to keep from landing in his lap. “What can I do to get you out of here as quickly as possible?”

Sherlock rounds on him. His hands land on the top of the desk, long fingers curling tight around the edge as he leans toward Lestrade. “Advice. Give me  _ advice.” _

Frowning, Lestrade tilts his head. “About what?”

“You were married, right?”

“Ye-es,” Lestrade replies slowly. “I’m also divorced, too.” 

Sherlock waves a dismissive hand. “Unimportant. Only the proposal part matters.” 

Lestrade quirks a brow. “Oh?”

“Yes.” Sherlock’s knuckles turn white around the edge of the desk, his face nearly thunderous when he tilts down and demands, “Tell me how to make John marry me.”

Taken aback, Lestrade jolts upright. “What?”

Sherlock makes a little growling sound of annoyance before he begins working his fingers through his wild hair. “I don’t like repeating myself, Lionel.” Tugging at his curls, he looks like a madman. “I want to marry John. I need you to tell me how to make him say yes.”

Amused, Lestrade’s lips twitch. “Not sure anyone can  _ make _ John do anything. But,” he holds up a hand to silence Sherlock’s rising retort. “I doubt he’d say no if you asked him.” He smiles to himself, remembering his conversation with John in the pub. “You  _ are _ going to ask him, right?” a terrible thought occurs to him. “Oh, god, you’re not just going to forge his signature on a marriage licence, are you?”

Sherlock’s eyes roll so hard, it’s a wonder he doesn’t go blind. “Obviously  _ not _ , Laminate.”

“Okay, now I  _ know _ you’re doing that on purpose.” 

Ignoring Lestrade’s words, Sherlock frees his mussed hair from the attack of his hands to wave them in the air. “For the love of all that is sacred,  _ help me!” _

Lestrade shakes his head but subsides with a small smile. “Alright, Sherlock. Calm down before you blow a blood vessel. Here’s what you do…”

***

Keeping things from the world’s only consulting detective is nearly impossible, and hiding an impending wedding proposal should be even more so. However, luck must be shining down on John because he manages it. Sherlock seems distracted, disappearing on some kind of casework he says John can’t help with. Normally, John would be concerned, but he is too focused on hiding tells of any sort to put up much of a fight when Sherlock sweeps out of the flat without him for the eighth time that week. 

Pulling out his phone, he sends a text.

_ Meet me at NSY at 5 tonight. Don’t be late. _

To his relief, Sherlock’s response is almost immediate. 

_ See you at 5. SH _

John grins and tucks the phone away before setting about his preparations for the evening.

***

The ring sits heavy in his pocket, and John has to remind himself repeatedly not to touch it. Waiting outside NSY for Sherlock, watching the early sunrise begin to shoot across the horizon, he glances at his watch for the hundredth time. When he glances over his shoulder at Greg, hovering by the front doors with his phone set to record, he receives a thumbs up and a wide grin. John swallows and returns the gesture. Tugging at the lapels of his suit, he waits for Sherlock to appear. 

At 5 on the nose, a cab pulls up to the curb and Sherlock emerges from the backseat. He tosses a handful of bills at the cabbie, exchanges rude words, and turns toward the building. Wearing a dark blue shirt beneath an unfamiliar bespoke jacket and dress pants combo, he is backlit by the setting sun.

He is breathtaking, and the air stops in John’s throat.

When Sherlock sees him, his steps falter, confusion passing over his face. Strangely, his hand drifts to his left pocket and lingers before his pace steadies, carrying him quickly to where John stands with a wide grin on his face. 

“John?” Tilting his head, he takes in the sharp lines of John’s suit. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Still grinning, John goes to one knee. “Sherlock,” he says, voice solemn as he reaches into his suit jacket. Sherlock’s eyes go wide, and his lips part in a loud exhale.

John pulls out the ring box and pops it open, the failing sun setting the edges of the ring ablaze. “Will you do me the honour of accepting my marriage proposal?”

***

Sherlock is stunned. Utterly, absolutely, completely amazed. Kneeling before him, resplendent in a dark grey suit, his silvered hair swooped to the side, John is the image of perfection. In his hands is a ring box. Inside it, the sleekest-looking ring Sherlock has ever laid eyes on. 

John asks Sherlock to marry him, and Sherlock gapes like a fish out of water until John’s brow furrows. Uncertainty replaces the soft expression of adoration on his face. 

“Sherlock?”

The name is spoken with such heart-aching confusion, edged with despair, that it brings Sherlock to his knees at once. Dropping to John’s level, he wrestles a similar box out of his trouser pocket. Hands shaking, he opens and holds it out with desperation. John’s eyes fasten onto the silver ring and widen. Before he can speak, Sherlock is babbling.

“I—you—how did—John?” As it only does in the face of John Watson, Sherlock’s ability to form coherent sentences fails, leaving words a slippery mess in his mouth. Over the sound of his own racing pulse, Sherlock hears a soft chuckle and looks over John’s shoulder to see Lestrade standing in the shadows. He is pointing a phone at them, and realization washes over him just as John speaks.

“You...you were going to propose?” His eyes are wide, blue and endless in the golden twilight. “To  _ me?” _

Grinning, finding his grasp of the English language once again, Sherlock rolls his eyes. “What? You thought you were the only one who could buy a ring and bend a knee?” 

John’s lips twitch. “Clearly not.” He sniffs and wipes a hand over his eyes. Sherlock coughs loudly, his throat suddenly tight.

“Come now, John. None of that.”

“Shut up, you berk,” John snaps, despite the wide grin spreading over his face. Leaning forward, he grips Sherlock’s jaw and presses a hard kiss to his mouth. 

“Or what?” Sherlock murmurs against his lips, tangling his fingers in John’s hair, obliterating all the hard work he put into styling the strands. It’s perfect—Sherlock is never happier than when he manages to ruffle John’s orderly world with his own.

John’s teeth press into his bottom lip in a playful nip. “Or I’ll marry you.” 

Curling his fingers around the nape of John’s neck, Sherlock ignores the falling dark and the wild whooping of New Scotland Yard’s finest in the background in favour of kissing his fiance. 

**Author's Note:**

> if you recognize the title format, I'm sorry you also experienced the internet in the early 2000s. if you don't, then don't worry about it, you're better off not knowing the reference.
> 
> Also, yes, I did steal that line John uses with Mary and apply it to Sherlock instead. Fight me, canon.


End file.
